


The Marks on Your Skin

by andreashipss



Series: Skimmons Oneshots [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Light Angst, Soft Girlfriends, skimmons - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 19:44:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15347304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andreashipss/pseuds/andreashipss
Summary: It isn’t uncommon for Jemma to fall asleep before Daisy. There were too many late nights where Daisy’s demons haunt her mind and she can’t close her eyes because the darkness will be too much. The nights she insists they leave one of the lights on, and Jemma doesn’t complain because sometimes the darkness is too much for her too.It’s on these nights that Daisy props herself up on an elbow and looks down at Jemma, tracing the freckles with her eyes, letting herself get lost in the constellations stretching across the smaller girl’s face, watching the light shift over them when Jemma moves, until eventually the demons leave her alone.





	The Marks on Your Skin

It isn’t uncommon for Jemma to fall asleep before Daisy. There were too many late nights where Daisy’s demons haunt her mind and she can’t close her eyes because the darkness will be too much. The nights she insists they leave one of the lights on, and Jemma doesn’t complain because sometimes the darkness is too much for her too. 

It’s on these nights that Daisy props herself up on an elbow and looks down at Jemma, tracing the freckles with her eyes, letting herself get lost in the constellations stretching across the smaller girl’s face, watching the light shift over them when Jemma moves, until eventually the demons leave her alone. 

Daisy has told Jemma this before, has whispered about the stars that cover her face, how Daisy absolutely adores them, how they grant her some sort of equilibrium on those restless nights. 

So Jemma never complains about Daisy’s captivation with her freckles, especially not when the inhuman uses her lips to trace a path over them, starting at her nose, going down her cheekbone, briefly brushing their lips together before continuing, peppering her neck and shoulders with kisses. 

Once she finishes, she moves back up and finally looks into Jemma’s eyes, and there is such adoration and fascination there in those beautiful dark eyes that Jemma can’t help but let the words “I love you” spill from her lips. 

Daisy smiles in response, one of those soft and vulnerable smiles that only appears when they’re alone, when Jemma reminds her of how much she’s cared for now. 

After a moment Daisy lets her eyes drift back to the dots covering the bridge of Jemma’s nose and she reaches a finger out to trace over them with a touch so soft it almost tickles.

“You, Jemma Simmons, have galaxies written into your skin, and I could spend the rest of my life exploring them.”

They kiss, a gentle loving kiss that shares emotions between them that no words could do justice. 

Jemma often wakes up before Daisy. Her body has its own alarm clock, set to wake her up an hour before dawn when she has to head to the lab. She’ll look over at the sleeping form next to her, listening to Daisy’s breathing for a minute before slipping out of bed to get ready. 

It’s one of those mornings, and Jemma is up at five, before realizing that it was one of those rare days she had off. So she relaxed and looked at Daisy, squinting through the darkness, simply taking her in and thinking about how lucky she is to be able to wake up and see Daisy next to her in the mornings. 

The inhuman is laying on her back over the covers, since she often gets too hot in the middle of the night. One of her arms is thrown over her head while the other is stretched out where it was previously wrapped around Jemma. She smiled at the way Daisy’s short hair fanned around her head like a mane, and let her eyes wander over her body, all toned muscles and smooth skin. 

The scientist settled back into her spot, resting her head on Daisy’s shoulder and curling into her side. Her pajama top had ridden up to almost the top of her ribs and Jemma’s fingers found their way there, running up and down the exposed skin. Daisy shifted slightly, mumbling something incoherent before stilling again, her head resting on Jemma’s and her hand naturally coming to rest on the other girl’s lower back. 

As the sun began to rise (or at least an artificial sun Jemma had installed with the help of Fitz, since being in an underground base for so long tended for one to miss the natural outdoors) Jemma watched the light dance over Daisy, flicking shadows over it and illuminating different areas of her silky untouched skin. 

Only, it wasn’t as untouched as Jemma had first thought. As she looked closer where the light would hit, she noticed the scars and marks, the subtle and faded imperfections. And all of a sudden, she understood Daisy’s obsession with her freckles. She ran a finger over a thin line above Daisy’s left hip, and another one at on her ribs, utterly captivated at the new discoveries. She moved to get a better look, expertly worming out of Daisy’s arm and sitting up, tracing all the small white marks that had almost vanished over time. Her fingers had just wandered to her other hip, where there seemed to be a collection of scars, rows of white lines that disappeared into her waistband, so old they were almost impossible to see, when a voice pulled her out of her reverie. 

“Admiring my abs?”

Daisy’s voice was hoarse, muddled with sleep. She rubbed at her eyes, propping herself up on her elbows to look at Jemma, who didn’t acknowledge her teasing, and instead quietly said, “You have marks. All over your stomach and ribs. I never noticed before.” 

Her voice was somewhat dreamlike as she continued to examine them. “Where did you get these?”

Daisy frowned. “I dunno. Most of them are really old, from my time in different foster homes.” She pulled her shirt further up so Jemma could see better, before grabbing her hand and leading it to a scar at her side. “I remember this one. One of my crazy foster moms got so frustrated that she chucked a vase at me. I was...maybe fourteen?”

Jemma ran her finger over the mark Daisy had led her to, sparing a quick glance up before leaning forward, pressing her lips to the spot. The kiss was feather light, but a shudder ran through Daisy. 

She pointed out another one, this time a little below her belly button. “That one’s really old. I can barely remember it, but I think I had gotten pushed at the playground and fell on top of some rocks. I was eight, I think.”

Jemma kissed it, her mind registering the way Daisy bared her life to her, the dark parts of her childhood, the parts that were painful enough to leave scars, and the way she told Jemma all of it with complete trust.

Instead of waiting for Daisy to point out another one, she placed her lips on a white mark further up, then another. “I’m painfully aware of the story behind those two,” she murmured, her voice soft as if scared to shatter the moment. 

Daisy’s hand reached down to gently rest against the side of Jemma’s neck, and the smaller girl leaned into the touch, both of them remembering the terrifying moment that involved two bullets inside Daisy, or Skye back then. Jemma pulled back slightly, eyes still darting across Daisy’s skin before settling on the three rows she had seen before, one on top of the other, on her lower hip. Now that the light wasn’t shining directly on them they were even harder to see, but she still moved her hand down, curling her fingers around Daisy’s waist while her thumb traced over them. “What about these?” 

She looked up to watch her respond, noticing the way Daisy visibly swallowed, falling back onto the pillow and looking up at the ceiling. Despite her obvious trepidation, she trekked on, working her jaw.

“I was twelve or thirteen, I’m pretty sure, when I did those to myself. I had just gotten out of bad home and was finally accepting the fact the nobody gave a crap about me.”

Jemma felt her chest constrict, and hid her facial expression by burying it into the scars. She lingered there, deeply breathing in the scent that was so intensely Daisy. After a moment, she moved so she was straddling the inhuman and began to carefully work her way up. She planted kisses on every scar, every perfect imperfection that she could find, until her face was just inches above Daisy’s. 

“You,” she breathed, watching as Daisy’s hair shifted slightly. “Are so _so_ beautiful, Daisy Johnson.”

And what could Daisy respond with other than “I love you”? 

So every time Jemma wakes up, she takes a bit of time to explore, to make new discoveries, before heading to the lab. 

And it’s on those late nights and those early mornings that Daisy and Jemma found themselves tracing over each other’s skin, mapping the stars, memorizing the imperfections, until they were completely familiar with every stray mark. 

Those quiet hours where words weren’t enough, so their fingers spelled out what they wanted to convey, until there was nothing left to voice out loud except “I love you” and even that was made clear even if unspoken. 

But they never left it unspoken.


End file.
